Last evening I was out looking at my pretty flowers. I was reminded of the times of bygone days when I was a girl at home, and I would like to tell about my mother's flowers.
Mother had a variety of old-fashioned ones--marigolds, zinnias, asters, four-o-clocks (she called them "pretty-by-nights"), touch-me-nots (balsam), hollyhocks, chrysanthemums (yellow, white, red, and bronze), and mignonette.
I never see mignonette growing any more. However, I believe it is listed in the catalogs.
Mother did not experiment with new flowers. She just raised the same kind each year, but they were so pretty. She cultivated them just as she did her vegetables and always shared her flowers with others. She said that was the pleasure she derived from them.
Her roses were prettier than any others around. When she planted a rose she dug a large hole, put rich dirt in it, and then would break corn cobs and add to that. I never figured out what they did for the soil.
The beauty of those flowers meant much to me. My mother, too, had that love for beauty.
The fragrance of four-o-clocks reminds me of my mother. She sometimes would pin them in her hair and wear them to church.
Today I raise the same flowers that she did. My touch-me-nots are beautiful--white, red, pink, and lavender. My marigolds are the old-fashioned kind. My little home is aptly named "Hollyhock Hill."
Time marches on so quickly, it seems. My mother has passed on, but I see her in memory among the flowers. I get the same pleasure raising flowers that she did.